Understand
by Scruff the Rat
Summary: "When I saw you, I fell in love and you smiled because you knew."-William Shakespeare
1. Bold

**Disclaimer:****I own no characters or elements of Over the Hedge. They belong to Michael Fry, T. Lewis, and DreamWorks.**

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Oswald Osborne.

That is my full name for those of you who don't know me; my friends and family know me as Ozzie.

I'm one of the forest animals residing in the last bit of wilderness in Rancho Camelot Estates, more precisely the possum that has perfected playing dead to an art-form...not that it does me much good right now. In fact, I'm starting to see what my daughter and my partner warned about being overreliant on it.

Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do to remedy that mistake at the moment. With the nearest of my family miles away and me under the baleful eye of my overweight captor, it's a safe bet I won't be going anywhere anytime soon.

How long have I been missing anyway? A few hours, I surmise, on account of the fact there was still some light out when Vincent snatched me away. Why he hasn't eaten me yet, like I expected him to, I'm still in the dark about, although I have hazarded the apparent notion of revenge among other theories.

_'__At least I haven't been digested yet,'_ I admit as I stare out at the moon from the entrance of the cave, seated on my haunches and my arms on my knees, _'Hopefully I'll remain that way.'_

"Yo, possum, fetch me that can of Spuddies."

On the other hand, I also intend not to lose my dignity as a prisoner. Just because he's stronger than me and could outrun me if I tried to escape is no reason for me to be his throw pillow. Alas, my mouth proves faster than my rationality. "I'm not your servant, Vincent. Procure that can yourself."

"What was that?" he replies in a dangerously low tone.

"I said," I repeat like the fool I am without looking back, my words slow and patronizing like I'm speaking to a child, "'procure that can yourself.'"

That's another problem I have: even before RJ, I've always had a part of me that ignores my sense of self-preservation. Ninety percent of the time, I can control it. Every time someone jabs at my pride, however, like Vincent just did, that mellow and meek shell of mine starts tearing off. And God, it tore off so quickly this time I barely noticed.

Because of that, I suddenly find myself dangling by the tail above that brute's sneering deathtrap of a maw, his yellow irises flashing with too much joy to be healthy. There's no fear in me, though; only a deep calm defiance. Don't bother asking me why; I can only assume all that time spent with RJ rubbed his boldness onto me. I'm not sure if I should be grateful for that.

"You got some nerve defyin' me, possum."

Resisting the urge to gag proves difficult. Ugh, dear Hippolyta, his breath is foul.

"It's Oswald, _bear_."

That snarky response of mine gets Vincent narrowing his eyes at me—not a good sign. I still refuse to be pushed around, even if doing so means becoming the main course. I'm not the weak little man I once was, so yes, I am definitely grateful RJ's boldness rubbed onto me.

I am also going to slap that raccoon senseless for rubbing his boldness onto me once I get home—if I ever survive to see home.

Fortunately, that becomes a distinct possibility when Vincent unceremoniously dumps me onto the unforgiving stone floor of his den. I'm still in one piece, thank God, but I can tell Vincent dropped me on my posterior like that on purpose to get his point across without ending his 'fun' too soon, evident when that uncouth ursine huffs and smirks in amusement at my discomfort.

"I liked you better when you were as spineless as the rest of those twerps."

"Well, sorry to disappoint, my good man," is my dignified and unhesitant retort. Resisting the urge to shout at this thug for insulting my kin takes all of my willpower. When I finally manage to sit up despite the soreness in my rear, I shift my eyes up at Vincent in wonder. "So is that it? Do I have permission to leave now or would you like for us to continue this inane conversation until daybreak or until my family comes to pick me up?"

That question earns me a toothy growl but I refuse to stand down. Monsters gain power through intimidation so whatever he does to me, I'll never give him the satisfaction of seeing my— Hang on, why is he peering at me like I'm a tree or piece of fruit he can't identify all of a sudden? He shakes his head at me, long and slow, his hands gesturing out at me as if I'm some unknown concept he can't grasp.

"How the hell did ya end up with someone like RJ?"

His question has piqued my curiosity. He had to have spied on us for a while to know RJ and I were together, a highly discomforting notion to say the least. I finally allow my façade to slip a little and gaze at him through mystified eyes, unsure if there's an angle here. "What do you mean by that?"

A pig-like snort escapes Vincent before he rolls his eyes at me and darkens his glare even more than before. "Why the hell would you choose a squirt like that for a mate?"

I have been through plenty of shocking moments in my life, some of which still haunt me to this very day. Unfortunately, none of them could have prepared me for this one. And when I'm unprepared my hidden temper tends to comes out yet who could blame me in this case?

How dare this thug sink so low!

"Now see here, young man," God, that sounds bizarre in this context, "that 'squirt' is a wonderful mate and you have no right to judge him when you lack even the faintest idea of how kind and caring he's been to my family, particularly to our daughter."

Yes, I just said 'our daughter.' If that doesn't reveal how real my feelings for that amazing raccoon are, then I'll simply scourge the ends of the earth to find out what will. "And besides, you've most likely lived the majority of your life by yourself, so you're hardly any proper authority on what constitutes a true mate!"

Vincent is so quiet now...deathly quiet. That scares me far more than the threat of being dinner did, impossible as that sounds.

No, I'm still not running away; I'm still standing here, arms crossed and face scrunched in a glare. Running would definitely be the smart thing do and yet...something is keeping me here, urging me to stick around for whatever will happen next.

I don't fancy waiting around for no reason, though. No words, hmm? Very well, I've wasted enough time here.

Just when I'm on the verge of departing from this godforsaken cave, unwilling to play this bear's game any longer, Vincent drops his rear onto the ground. His glare doesn't even seem to register my presence anymore. It's as if he's staring off at something else...

I gasp when I recognize that stare. How could I not when it had haunted my reflections every day after my wife died? My head shakes at the mere thought—the idea—that this scoundrel could have been someone's husband once, that he and I once shared something in common. That simply couldn't be possible...right?

"Really..." the solemn tone in his voice startles me, despite the hollow chuckle covering it in vain, "you think I don't know exactly what you mean, possum?"

No, don't soften your face, Ozzie. Keep silent. Keep your face neutral and attentive.

"My wife and son meant more to me than anything else in this goddamn world," Vincent shakes his head, his voice low and even (I can still hear the pain regardless), "so I lost everything when those humans in the orange suits killed them. I failed them and there ain't no bringin' 'em back."

Nothing reaches my mind. Nothing escapes my lips.

His eyes don't lie. They truly don't.

For one hot second, sympathy floods me. It floods me and for a moment I feel like I'm staring into a mirror, a mirror melded from memories so warped together I almost let the sting in my eyes give way to tears so that my distorted other can feel something close to the comfort he once knew.

Then I recall who I'm dealing truly with.

That flood evaporates as quickly as it came. My body stiffens, my chest puffing out from daring bravado. I wonder if this is how Hamlet felt facing Laertes. "Do you intend to do the same to mine?"

His sharp eyes pierce into mine, his yellow trying to melt the resolve in my ice-blue. He never succeeds and we both that know that, which is why after what feels like eons he eventually stands back up with a sigh, waving a shooing paw at me.

"Just get outta here already, possum. Get back ta yer cosy termite heap in the woods so you snuggle up to yer sappy family." He made sure to sound as mocking as possible at the end. Somehow that action brings the sympathy flooding back even harder than before.

My feet bring me one step closer to Vincent and no step closer, his eyes never daring to meet mine. "I see your killer instincts aren't what they used to be. Perhaps they're saying they've had enough isolation"—my voice beats his to a retort—"and don't mistake my advice as sympathy. I haven't forgotten the cruelty you wrought upon my family, especially on RJ. Consider my attempt more as an unspoken duty, from one heartbroken husband to another."

A scoff escapes Vincent at my assurance. I expected no less. "Are you always this sentimental? Cuz if you are, I don't how RJ stands it."

"Oh he manages." A faint glimmer of concern touches my face. "Speaking of whom, I have to get home before Verne tries to send him six feet under for Lord knows what. So if that is all, then I shall bid you adieu. Thank you for—not eating me."

Vincent scoffs again. "Whatever."

And just like that, I'm gone. But not before I pause to look over my shoulder; Vincent still refuses to look my way.

He can't fool me.

I know I've struck a chord that's been in disuse for years.

My only expectation, almost hope, as I walk away is that he's willing to take the risk of contact.

Time can only tell. Fate is out of my hands now.

Besides, I've gone long enough. I have a spouse and child to return to...and a bright future to share.


	2. Awkward

**Yep, more slash; eat it or leave it. I only own this story, not the characters or elements in here.**

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Back and forth...back and forth...back and—what the hell?!

_'Okay, that's it!' _RJ griped to himself, his anger obvious in his vice grip on the wood beneath him. He'd had enough of watching the possum in front of him wear a hole into the ground!

Here the raccoon was, sitting on this unforgivably hard stump for over an hour (at least it felt that way to him) instead of sitting in his favorite (and might we add, comfy) armchair watching his favorite action movie with the rest of his family. Seriously, he was missing some serious butt-kicking right now! Then again, if Ozzie, the one who asked him to come out here in the first place, didn't start talking soon, then there was going to be plenty of butt-kicking after all.

"I'm sure you already know why you're out here, correct?"

_'Ugh, finally he speaks!'_ Mouthing a silent hallelujah, RJ popped his back, having slumped for so long, and then leaned back on his hands, his eyes full of impatience. "Not particularly"—he perked up his masked eyebrow in a teasing manner—"unless this is about the Twinkies you were saving up last night cuz if it is—"

"What are your intentions with my daughter?"

RJ blinked for a few seconds, completely caught off guard by the question. He then dug his fingers into his ears as if doing so would help his hearing then removed them and blinked again at the older mammal. "I'm sorry. Excuse me?"

Arms crossed, Ozzie released a chagrined sigh then rubbed his left fingers to his left temple. Jokes were not something the possum was in the mood for (even though RJ had not been kidding this time around). His eyes became even more critical as they refocused on the baffled raccoon. "What I mean is that Heather and you have been getting close—_too_ close, in my opinion. I want an answer: is your relationship with her wholesome or isn't it?"

Much to the possum's further frustration, RJ blinked once again, looking not too different from a goldfish out of water...or maybe Verne watching an episode of _Modern Family_. "Excuse me?"

You could almost hear the veins in a certain marsupial's neck starting to pop.

_'Deep even breaths...deep even breaths...' _Ozzie repeated this mantra in his head, eyes closed and middle fingers joined with thumbs meditative style, until he was most certain his temper had cooled down...or so he hoped. He opened his eyes with a chillingly calm smile and placed his palms together, his tone of voice a little too controlled to be comforting. "Let me try this from another angle: RJ...do you care about my daughter?"

The answer to that question (at least to RJ) should've been obvious. He shrugged his shoulders easily, almost looking offended at the inquiry. "Heck yeah, I care about her, about as much you do."

Ozzie took a step forward, head tilting to one side and still-together hands pointing both index fingers out at RJ. "And do you accept that fact that there will be times when you will be required to drop whatever you're doing and come to her aid when necessary?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," RJ held his hands out to get his friend to slow down; this conversation was starting to get out of hand, "do you honestly _not_ think I'd do everything I can to save that kid?"

Ozzie gripped his forepaws into a single fist. His teeth began to show as he growled, "Well then, how about in the event she has an unplanned pregnancy, hmm? Would you still be willing to help her?"

Forget offended, RJ was downright hurt now. He sat up rather than shot up, not angry enough to hurt Ozzie (not that he'd ever strike the elder mammal anyway) yet certainly angry enough to put a stop to this crap. "Okay, Ozzie, what the hell? What's with the fourth-degree? You're making this sound like I'm your daughter's boyfriend for corn's sake!"

"OF COURSE, I'M MAKING THIS SOUND LIKE THAT! YOU SPEND SO MUCH TIME AROUND HER BEFORE BEDTIME EVERY GODFORSAKEN NIGHT, WHAT ELSE WOULD I THINK?!"

Things got real quiet after that.

Ozzie was panting like rabid dog, up to his ropes with whatever sick and twisted game he suspected RJ to be playing.

RJ...was standing as still as a statue, as blank-faced as one, too...at least until his brain finally managed to register the implication behind the possum's words. Whatever response Ozzie expected, he doubted it involved the raccoon pulling off the same kind of face one gets from watching someone guzzle down a bucket of rancid mayonnaise. Good Lord, the poor guy looked ready to puke! He suddenly staggered away, resisting his gag reflex as best as he could, not to mention direly struggling to block out the gutter-level thoughts Ozzie just lodged into his brain.

_'That guy...really thinks that I and Heather...ugh! I can't believe I actually—'_

"RJ, hold it!"

Dare the masked forager look back? He'd rather not meet the possum in the eye right now, especially if that old pervert had any other brain-bleach worthy quotes to share. He did stop, at least. Why, he had no freaking idea.

In the meantime, Ozzie was just as beside himself, though understandably for different reasons. Why on Earth was RJ acting so vehemently to the idea of being with Heather? _'I know I'm against the idea of her being with a boy, but I was only trying to make RJ understand my point of view. What in God's name has gotten into him?'_

He placed his hand on RJ's shoulder and shook it in an attempt to get the raccoon to look at him. "RJ...? RJ...! Listen, I apologize that my interrogation rattled you that much but you need to understand—"

His companion cut his explanation off when he suddenly swiveled around and fixed upon him a half-lidded, unamused, 'I-am-so-done-with-your-shit' glare. If any moment around RJ were a proper time to faint, now would be perfect. In fact, Ozzie would've most surely fainted if RJ, wise to his habits, hadn't grabbed him by the wrists and pulled him in close enough for the two of them to chest to chest.

What could Ozzie say at this point? He'd never seen RJ so serious, so livid...so hurt. Not even the incident with Vincent ever made him look like this.

"You really think those are my thoughts whenever I look at Heather?" His face softened into what appeared to be his usual snarky countenance yet Ozzie sensed something off in RJ's eyes...something sharp and aggressive. It made the opossum gulp. "Alright then, Daddy Marsupial, allow me to show you how wrong you really are."

Before Ozzie could demand an answer, RJ slapped his own lips onto his! The kiss wasn't deep yet electricity coursed through the older mammal's body just the same! This was wrong. This should've felt so wrong! So why was Ozzie not pushing RJ back but rather holding onto him like a drowning sailor to a lifeline?

RJ left him no more time to ponder when he pulled back from him, both men breathing shallow, his smile at the wide-eyed possum bittersweet before he let go and backed away. "There, am I clear now?"

When the raccoon started to walk away, Ozzie took a step forward, one hand reaching out as his voice trembled, "RJ, wait!"

Though the exclamation stopped him in his tracks, RJ shook his head no. "I get it. You think I'm too young to be with you, even though there's only at most a ten-year gap between us. I never had a family before you guys, but I also never got to start one either. There never seemed to be much hope for that second part since neither sex ever caught my eye. Then you and your daughter came swinging into my life. I only saw Heath as the kid I never got to have—that's how I'll always see her. She's my little girl too, ya know, and I would never, ever, do anything to hurt her on purpose."

Then he was off again.

Panic seized Ozzie. Guilt mocked him. He hurried his steps. Dirt couldn't compare to how low he felt this instant. "No please, listen to me! I'm sorry I misjudged you so harshly and unfairly! I was trying to look after my family...but I failed to realize that's what I should've been doing for you as well. RJ...," he got down to one knee, "please...please forgive an old man and his foolishness."

With a petulant sigh, RJ turned around to face the possum, head shaking again and face set into a deep frown. His face softened once he finally noticed the tears in Ozzie's eyes, noticed how pained the older (and at that moment, admittedly cute) mammal truly was. Maybe a second chance wouldn't be so bad of an idea, not that RJ would have let his crush carry on like this. He always hated seeing Ozzie cry.

Walking up to him, RJ got down to one knee as well, put his hands on the possum's shoulders, and started to gently shake him. "Oh c'mon, man, show a little dignity," he softly admonished, "Ya can't expect yourself to make things up to me if you're being more dramatic than usual, right?"

What had been sheer lament storming in Ozzie's eyes soon began to clear with hope as he gazed up at RJ. That was all the answer the raccoon needed. Feeling progress for the first time since this kooky conversation began, he let a genuine smile take over his face.

"Alright, listen," the masked animal sat down beside his sniffling friend and slung an arm around him, inviting the other mammal to seat himself as well, "First off, I'm gonna buy you a lovely dinner—no wait, that's not right. Let me start over. First, you're gonna buy me a lovely dinner."

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**This felt like a natural stopping point.**


	3. Books

**I only own this story. All the characters in it belong to Dreamworks and those two guys who wrote the Hedge comics. There, are all you disclaimer Nazis out there happy now? **

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_Hey Dad:_

_Sorry if this letter took a while to get to you. I'm still getting used to my new address._

_Things at college are going okay, I guess. It's nothing like high school, I can tell you that: the professors want a lot more out of me and I might need a part-time job just to catch up with my expenses for my apartment. I'm not too sure if I'm going to make it here but I'm not quitting, just like you taught me. My roommate's pretty cool, though, and she's even got almost all the same classes as me so it's not all bad. _

_Anyway, how's everything at home? Are classes going okay for you? I sure hope so. I remember how you used to complain about some jerks who weren't taking you or your lessons seriously. If that's happening again, just give me a call and I'll come right on down to straighten those losers out._

_Love,_

_Heather 3_

_P.S: Please don't be watching those videos of me as a baby. I don't care if I'm not around to see them; they're still embarrassing and I don't wanna come by for Christmas and catch you winding your way through them over and over again._

* * *

_'__Oh Heather, sweetie, your wit hasn't dulled one bit,' _mused with a chuckle a tall, bespectacled and sharply dressed forty-three year-old man with short, neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair and a closely cropped full beard as he stuffed the letter back into a white envelope and slipped the envelope in return into the left pocket of his khaki slacks.

He leaned back into his lacquered oak seat, the periwinkle blazer draped over its back cushioning him, as his left hand fought back an approaching yawn. Today had been tiring, rewarding yes but still tiring. Fortunately, a college-age boy in a waiter's uniform appeared not too long after, his pencil and notebook at the ready.

"Hey there, sir, welcome back to Camelot Café! The usual I wager?"

The gentleman smiled amusedly. This young man knew him too well. "Why yes, Hammy, an Irish Crème Latte and chocolate biscotti, please..."

"Alright," the waiter chirped with an eager grin as he finished copying the order down into his notebook, "I'll be back with your order in no time, sir. Hang tight!"

The elder male grinned at the young employee's spunk, forcibly reminded of some of the students in his drama class and (with a nostalgic pang) his daughter. As soon as the worker dashed away, the gentleman stole a look out of the huge window next to him. He could see the emerald hills and forest far beyond the quiet asphalt road, the setting sun contrasting against a pale red and tangerine sky and coating the rural landscape in a shimmering gold. Oh, this view was always so breathtaking, he never found himself growing bored of it.

Almost subconsciously, His fingers started tapping in rhythm with the smooth jazz that permeated the atmosphere, his head bobbing at an identical pace. Classical music was respectful and elegant but something about jazz allured him in ways even Bach and Mozart could never hope to match. It helped that few customers occupied the café at this time of day. Most folks in this part of town would either be attending evening classes or commuting home after a long day of work. This man had the privilege of teaching classes just a hop and skip away from this establishment, so traffic mattered little to him and, besides, he needed the exercise.

_'__Now then, where did I put that book?' _he wondered as his hands hunted through the interior of his black suitcase. His frowning lips upturned once his fingers met the familiar feel of leather. _'Ah, there you are.'_

Pulling his copy of _Midsummer Night's Dream _out and skipping over to the page that contained his George Benson bookmark, the gentleman began to indulge himself in the four-way drama as well as Puck's tomfoolery, smiling at the antics he knew would follow in the next act when suddenly...

**_VROOM! VROOM!_**

Quiet split in two at the continuous noise along with the man's sense of calm. _'What on earth is that racket?'_

He shot a glare out the window to pinpoint the source of that obnoxious sound and soon spotted a red-and-black Harley Davison motorcycle parked outside beside the sidewalk, the dismounting lean leather-clad rider turning it off (much to the gentleman's relief) and chaining it to an adjacent bike rack. Removing his helmet, the biker revealed wavy brown hair that extended down his tanned face as heavy sideburns; a faint five-o'clock shadow and soul patch became noticeable as the biker strolled up to the doors and threw them open like he owned the place, startling customers and workers alike.

The gentleman tsked at the flagrant lack of decorum. _'I honestly hope he doesn't keep that behavior up the whole time he's here. People come here to relax, not party. I must admit, though, I do envy his appearance and vigor.' _He shook his head, willing to put the stranger (and those strange afterthoughts) out of mind. _'Oh well, as long as he's nowhere near me, I think I'll survive.'_

Indeed, other than the biker's off-kilter entrance, no other sound disrupted the flow of jazz that continued to play. That fact, the gentleman took great comfort in, so without further ado he returned to reading his book...except it was no longer in his hands. He had to take a double-take to make sure he wasn't seeing things. No, he wasn't; the book was dead sure gone. How though? He hadn't even felt it leave his hold!

The sound of someone's fingers flipping pages caught the gentleman's ears, causing him to jerk his head up immediately. He frowned in pure irritation at the biker, who was sitting right across the table from him and skimming through the pilfered book, his half-lidded eyes tracing the words with apparent disinterest.

"So, Shakespeare, huh," the younger man suddenly asked, never taking his eyes off of the current page, "cool guy, funny too, although he'd kinda antique for me. I'm more of a modern literature dude myself."

When the biker finally looked up, revealing his eyes for the first time, the gentleman almost jumped at how deeply blue the irises were. Could he be gazing into the unyielding depths of a vibrant sea, an expanse of mystery teeming with energy and life...or perhaps a clear summer sky brimming with the calls of mourning doves? Either way, so deep into his poetic reverie, he registered his book with a confused stare once he noticed it back in front of him where it belonged.

His eyes lifted back up only to see the biker fixing him with a smirk and still half-lidded stare. "Dude, do you space out like that on everybody, or am I just lucky?"

Shaking his head with a posh scoff and clasping his hands together on the table, the gentleman settled a cool countenance on the biker, resisting the ever so tempting urge to glare. He never liked having others touch his possessions without his permission, so that stranger had already crossed the line in his opinion. "My good man, I would rather you leave me in peace and attend to your own matters. Otherwise I might end up involving the authorities, and I am quite certain you would rather avoid that scenario."

If he expected that suggestion to intimidate his unwanted associate (and he did), he was sadly mistaken. In fact, the biker only enlarged his smirk even more, which irked the gentleman even further. The biker crossed his arms over his chest, leaning them on the table, and chuckled. "Buddy, you need ta chill. If ya want some peace, why didn't ya just say so?"

The glare he received said everything.

"Alright, alright," the biker replied in a nonchalant drawl with raised hands, "I know when I'm not wanted; just wanted to strike up a conversation."

And just like quickly as he appeared, the biker stood up and left. The gentleman put a hand to his temple in relief. _'Thank goodness that's over.'_

Even better, the waiter from before arrived with his order and set it down in front of the man. "There you are, sir!"

"Oh thank you, young man," the gentleman said with a grateful smile. His voice carried somewhat of a sigh, which he hoped the waiter didn't notice. Thankfully, the waiter merely returned the grin, although soon after he _did_ look in the direction the biker had left, much to his customer's interest. "I see ya already met RJ, by the way!"

"RJ?" the gentleman queried with a blink before his eyes widened in realization, "Oh, you must be referring to that fellow from just now. Well, he was quite intrusive. I had half a mind to call the police on him for harassment."

Unexpectedly, the waiter snorted. "You and just about every other customer..."

_'__Me and every other customer...?' _Curiosity had the gentleman in its grasp. "I...beg your pardon?"

Looking over his shoulder first, Hammy regarded his customer with a sympathetic smile as he whispered, "Believe me, sir, you're not the only one whose bad side RJ has stoked. Heck, the manager and older employees could count down right to the second when that guy ticks someone off. That's how well they know him. _I _know this because my dad went to high school with that guy and told me all about the trouble he caused. Seeing him for myself, I'm surprised RJ isn't a celebrity at the police station."

Eyes expanding out even more from amazement, the gentleman risked a peek over at the bar in the center of the café, where the biker—RJ—could be seen chatting it up with a lovely redheaded woman seated next to him. The gentleman narrowed his eyes at the scene, unwilling to disregard the waiter's words yet unsure just how accurate those claims were. In fact, RJ appeared to be a fairly decent fellow compared to his previous behavior if the young lady's laughter and smiles were anything to go by.

_'__There's not much else I can decipher about him at this point. At least he looks somewhat harmless.' _Regardless, the gentleman waved a dismissive hand at the worker in order to have some alone time, "I'll see for myself, thank you."

"Suit yourself, sir," the waiter shrugged his shoulders before departing, leaving his customer to ponder on what to do next concerning RJ. Said customer sighed in resignation, figuring to let bygones be bygones. After all, he finally got his desired solitude, hadn't he?

So how come, as he watched RJ and the woman laugh over something, the gentleman felt like the odd man out? Those two _did _seem to be having oodles of fun over there...far more than him, that's for sure. Suddenly Shakespeare no longer held appeal anymore. Casting his book off to the side, the gentleman resorted to sipping his drink, hoping to drown this strange sense of melancholy bubbling in his stomach.

"You could join us, ya know," a familiar voice pointed out from seemingly out of nowhere, startling the gentleman before he could reach for his biscotti. Lo behold, who else should meet his icy-blue stare than RJ? The biker held back a chuckle at the shyness that suddenly overcame his associate's face. "C'mon, man, Abby and I won't bite, honest!"

The gentleman stared at the biker in shock, wide-eyed and mouth agape. He pointed a finger at RJ and then to himself, incredulous. "You're...inviting me? _Me_...? We hardly know each other!"

RJ shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'why not'. "I know. That's why I'd like to get to know you better. I can respect wanting alone time every now and then, but ya can't be on your own _all_ the time!"

The tone rather than the words struck a chord in the gentleman; nervousness took over again when he broke eye contact to gaze downcast, swirling around the biscotti in his Irish Crème. "Some people find being alone easier."

After all, that's how his social life always worked, right?

Ever since childhood, he could never make friends easily; even nowadays, his relationships with his colleagues were...stark, for lack of a better term. Oh, he could converse with them when work required him to yet he could never bring himself to accept their invitations to get-togethers. He knew he only had himself to blame but old habits die hard. He had always been timid, that lost child who preferred to whittle the days away in the library with Macbeth and Hamlet instead of out in the sun or in the cafeteria, so it was no wonder he'd been an easy target throughout his youth.

Adulthood and college eliminated the bullying, thank goodness, but the teasing was another story. He let those memories go with a cleansing sigh once he realized the depressive turn his thoughts were taking. _'Ah well, I'm still breathing and I even have a well-paying job so I must be doing something right, which must mean there's no need for me to change.'_

"Besides," he met RJ's eyes and forced out a weak chuckle, "You and your friend don't want an old fossil like me hanging around you."

"Pft, please, you are the farthest example of 'fossil' I've ever seen! Just look at that suitcase," RJ gestured an open palm at the mentioned object, "who even bothers carrying those things anymore? And that book you were reading—a classic, man! The moment I saw it, I knew you weren't the kind of guy to get suckered by the kind of junk that passes for best-sellers nowadays."

Blinking twice in shock at the rider who never left as he expected him to, the gentleman cleared his throat to regain his composure. "Mmm...I will admit, today's literature can be rather lacking, although there _is_ the occasional novel that glimmers like an oasis in a desert of mediocrity. You only need to know where to look."

"See? That's exactly what I mean! That's not something I'd ever expect from some everyday Snooze-ville flake. You, my good man, _you've _got that special something, something that sets you totally apart from the rest of these chumps...well, minus Abby and yours truly, of course."

The gentleman looked away again, only this time to ponder over RJ's words. He felt so...flattered. Yes, sometimes he'd receive the occasional compliment from a student or colleague or a word of encouragement from his daughter, but what this fellow had said...it brightened the gentleman's world so considerably. How RJ pulled such a feat off, the gentleman may never understand and yet found himself not caring in the least.

"Who knows? Perhaps you're right." Straightening up in his seat, he cleared his throat before nervously sticking his hand out for RJ to shake, a hopeful smile stretching across his cheeks. "I apologize for misjudging you earlier, RJ. I'm so used to being a recluse and keeping others at a distance I—"

A firm grip on his hand lodged him out of his apology.

"All the more reason for you to hang out with us; say, what's your name, by the way, cuz I'd rather not call you 'Old Dude' the whole time."

Resisting the urge to chuckle, the gentleman drew his hand back. "It's Oswald, Oswald Osborne. But please, just call me Ozzie. If you ever call Mr. Osborne, I'll simply look over my shoulder for my father."

RJ hummed in approval, resisting the urge to snort at his new friend's wit. "Ozzie, huh...? I like it; definitely better than 'Old Dude'...!"

Maybe the compliment was the reason or perhaps it was RJ's vivacity, Ozzie couldn't tell for sure, but he had a feeling he could get to enjoy having this joker's company.

And from that point on, their meetings became increasingly routine as time went on: Ozzie would be on his lonesome at first at the same table at the same usual time; then RJ would coming roaring along on his motorcycle and swagger in like a king of the road, winking and tease-saluting as he pleased; and at last the two men would settle down to discuss whatever came to their minds, stream of consciousness deciding the start and end for them, Hammy sometimes popping in and out to see how they were doing or friends of RJ joining in on the conversation, particularly Abby.

Ah, those discussions were so liberating for the two of them—Ozzie breaking out of his shell more easily and RJ feeling security without having to look over his shoulder for once—it was no surprise why they evolved a few notches up the friendship ladder so quickly.

And maybe that's also why Ozzie never saw _it _coming.

* * *

Seasons came and went. Classes came and went. Letters and calls came and went.

Speaking of which, Heather's letter should have arrived by now. Nothing occupied the mailbox when Ozzie checked one chilly late-February morning. He swallowed down a lump of disappointment with the silent assurance that his baby girl's response would be in the next day.

It wasn't.

_'__Oh well, perhaps she's left a call on the answer machine.'_

He found nothing there, too.

Hurt as he was, Ozzie understood that someone of his age shouldn't let misfortunes like this slow him down, so he sought to immerse himself in preparing his lessons, teaching, and every mundane chore he could think of, aiming to write down another letter or give Heather a call in his free time.

He never got around to either option.

RJ saw to that, unintentionally that is. One way or another, that notorious biker always managed to ride his way into Ozzie's thoughts, leaving the older male distracted, oftentimes frustrated and even sometimes gnashing his teeth, much to the fright of his worried coworkers and freaked-out students.

The worse part: Ozzie enjoyed this newfound inner madness. Few other people had ever managed to screw his logic-wired brain up as thoroughly as that uncouth biker did. And then there was every goddamn minute of RJ's spirited yarns, smooth-talking, and veritable arguments on the most inane of topics. That man proved himself as Ozzie's polar opposite in so many ways that Ozzie couldn't believe his own hair wasn't greying at an alarming rate.

All this introspection reflected in his mind as Ozzie gazed out the window several hours later into the day, the sky a fittingly familiar shade of cobalt. Spring was on its way yet winter lingered outside, determined to bother as many denizens as possible before the next season could kick it out the door.

A frustrated sigh escaped him. Several weeks had already passed since Heather last sent a letter and even longer since she'd called or seen him—not counting the week-long vacation she spent with him for Christmas—and, if not for RJ, Ozzie swore he would've torn his dark-grey hair out at the long wait. Honestly, calling couldn't be that difficult and writing a letter doesn't require that much time! What on Earth was that girl doing over there?

_'__Easy there, Ozzie,'_ he closed his eyes and took deep even breaths, _'College isn't a basket of cherries. You should know; you teach at one. She has to be up to her neck in projects and studying. You'll receive an answer from her when she has the time. Besides, you don't want RJ to catch you brooding like this, do you—'_

"Whoa, Oz-man, what's with the long face?"

_'__Never mind,'_ Ozzie thought upon his acting skills, he willed his face to soften with the aim of leading his friend off the trail. Although RJ sat down across from him as usual, his furrowed eyebrows and half-hearted grin confirmed all suspicions instantly.

Ozzie slapped his hands to his forehead, elbows collapsing onto the table. He'd forgotten he wasn't the only one who excelled at acting. Lovely.

"It's about Heather, huh?"

Ozzie stiffened behind his hands, taken back. His worries couldn't be that obvious...right? He removed his hands and fixed RJ with a vulnerable stare. After a few moments of awkward silence, the biker sighed through the nose and half-smiled before he stood up and moved his seat over to Ozzie's, sitting down and wrapping his arm around the taller man's broad shoulders.

"C'mon, buddy," RJ spoke in a calm and assuring tone, his unusually tender expression assuaging his friend's nerves. "It's just me. You can tell me. The kid ain't in trouble, is she?"

Shaking his head no, Ozzie leaned back until his eyes met the ceiling. "She isn't...at least, I hope not. Oh, she's still so young...and college has so many temptations." His mind swarmed with every possible scenario he could think up; none of them were pleasant. "Oh, I know she's meant to be on her own and work problems out for herself at this point in her life...but how can I _not_ worry about her? I'm still her father, after all."

RJ's face, Ozzie noticed out of his peripherals, went blank for a second then began these faint twitches, almost as if its owner couldn't decide which emotion to show. Having a teen daughter and working with youth had taught Ozzie how to read others' faces and he could determine sheer conflict on his friend's.

_'__Ah yes, evidently I've also forgotten I'm not the only one in this pair with family issues.'_

Of course, that fact didn't surprise Ozzie. Throughout the five months he'd gotten to know RJ, their conversations had had moments in which the seemingly infallible biker would show a glimmer of weakness for just the briefest of seconds—a sudden frown, a quick spasm of the eyebrow, even the occasional pause RJ would make before switching to another topic. And of all the subjects RJ avoided, he strayed away from the topic of family the most.

_'__He can be rather sensitive on that matter. However, I wonder whether today is the day he will finally treat me to that part of his past.' _Acting on a whim, Ozzie dared a faint smile. "I know you're a man who values his freedom, so I apologize if talking about my child is off-putting."

RJ blushed at the apology. He sheepishly drew his arm away from Ozzie's shoulders and crossed it on the table with his other one. "Oh no, no, man, I don't mind. Heck, I like when ya mention Heather. She sounds like a real good kid."

A soft yet proud huff escaped Ozzie. "Yes, that daughter of mine is something else, isn't she? She takes after her mother so much, there are some days I wonder who I'm truly looking at. I miss her so much, even on my best days, that sometimes I still trick myself into thinking she'll come bounding down the stairs any moment. I know better than that and yet...she never stops haunting my memories."

Faint tears glimmered in his eyes yet he refused to stop speaking, his voice struggling to remain strong and even. "I only want her to be happy with her life. I always knew she'd grow up to be a strong, confident woman and now that she's left..."

Reality finally hit him like a truck: Heather didn't need him anymore.

Oh to hell with being strong! Ozzie held nothing back. His eyes overflowed with tears as his body slumped forward, rivulets of saltwater pooling onto the tabletop, choked sobs streaming out of him, arms on the table as well and shielding his face from prying eyes. Oh, how undignified he must look, carrying on like a small child. Just imagine what his mother would say at this display! Oh dear, RJ must be mortified of him now.

A strong pressure set into his back and rubbed circles into it.

"Hey."

Ozzie twitched in response, ready for the scalding reprimand.

"I-I don't know if this makes you feel any better, I'm not good at this kind of stuff, but...Heather's pretty damn lucky to have you in her life. You give her all the love and support you can, even when the two of you are so far apart. I never got to know my parents as a kid so I never got to have that."

Once he heard the sobs start to subside, he continued, his voice regaining its familiar strength. "Yeah, you heard me. I'm an orphan boy, an honest to God orphan boy. For as far back as I can remember 'til I got old enough, I got tossed around so many times back then, I swore I looked like a tennis ball with legs. You'd think I was a troublemaker. Kind of true...except I'm the one who got in trouble most of the time...and that's considering if the adults ever bothered to notice, let alone do something. Heh, you could say the crap I got blamed for is why I stopped giving a damn about others a long time ago."

Nothing else poured from Ozzie's lips and his body maintained its current position; his ears, however, were quite attentive. Never in his life would Ozzie have guessed the high-spirited and reckless RJ to have been the victim of abuse and neglect. RJ always oozed with enough passion and charisma to put the Sun and perhaps even the North Star to shame, so to hear such harrowing truths...Ozzie swore his own eyes might tear up again, albeit for a different reason.

"I understand why you never told me before now," Ozzie finally dared to gaze up at RJ, his own eyes red and puffy. "I can't blame you."

RJ shook his head with a halfhearted grin. His voice remained soft. "It's not because I didn't trust you, Oz. It's because you didn't need me bogging you down with my stupid issues. Complaining never got me anything besides a slap upside the head, so why start now?"

Words failed so much this very moment, what else could one possibly say? In fact, the only actual response Ozzie could think up consisted of a weak chuckle and a one-arm hug around his friend's waist. He tried to ignore the sensation of his fingers brushing against tight abdominal muscles as well as the heat radiating off of the brunet. He smiled when RJ reciprocated the gesture.

"I never believed in corporeal punishment, so you shouldn't have anything to worry about. But listen to me, RJ. Complaining and sharing your problems are two different actions. I don't care if men aren't expected to share their feelings readily, bottling your emotions never solves anything. Trust me, I've tried," a real chuckle emitted from him this time before his face hardened once more, "Never be afraid to confide in me. Whatever secret or memory you need to say, I _will _be there to listen. Okay?"

The next few moments passed in silence, the two fellows matching each other ice-blue to ocean-blue. With a heavy sigh, RJ muttered something under his breath then suddenly leaned into Ozzie, causing the taller man to blush. "Heh, you know what, Oz?" He spoke in a hazy voice, either unaware of or ignoring his friend's flustered state. "You really need to write some of the stuff you say down; you just might be the next Keats, my man."

Wow, RJ didn't play around the bush there, did he? And in public, too; that took guts. Ozzie regained his composure. "Hmph, well, you can't be down anymore if you're back to your wisecracking—and, um, thank you, RJ," he drew his friend closer into his side, "for everything you've said."

"No problem, buddy..."

"Now if I could have my personal space back please..."

"Aw man, c'mon! It's freezing out there; how else am I supposed ta stay warm?" Ozzie opened his mouth to point out the air conditioning yet thought better of it at the last second once RJ's eyes slipped closed with a yawn. "Besides, it's so easy to feel safe around you. You take my craziness with a grain of salt, you don't take any of the stuff I say personally, and you're the only person besides Abs I can spew out my deepest darkest secrets to."

Ozzie's face not only blushed more than before, it also heated up tremendously. Goodness, he never realized how attached to him RJ became in the last couple of months. Then again, this development didn't surprise Ozzie so much now that he contemplated it. _'My family did always say I have that effect on people. I'm so honored you feel that way about me, RJ.'_

Hang on a sec! If RJ meant what Ozzie suspected he meant, then weren't they—Ozzie allowed his body to go lax at what he realized for a while: he and RJ had fallen for each other. How that had happened, no one could say for sure.

_'__Or perhaps it's so simple,' _Ozzie mused with a smile down at the younger male near to snoozing in his arms. "You best be careful not to get_ too_ with me comfy, RJ. Folks here might think we're a couple."

RJ merely smirked. "Ah, to hell with what folks here think."

A shy feather-soft nuzzle met his forehead, followed by a round of affectionate laughter.

"Eloquent as always, my dear RJ, eloquent as always..." He leaned down for a gentle kiss. "Sweet dreams, my dear."


	4. Age

**I own neither Ozzie nor RJ. **

* * *

Too old.

He was much too old.

And he wasn't getting any younger either.

Okay, so he wasn't in need of a cane or one of those weird walker things his father uses to get around. Unfortunately, he no longer remained enough of a spring chicken that he could run five miles, let alone in his sleep. Heck, one-and-half miles alone were enough to leave him in a sweat.

Oswald Osborne gazed long and hard at his shirtless self, taking note of the silvery hairs rampant all over his lean yet hardly muscular body. Then there were the worry-marks and other wrinkles carved into the skin of his face, to all of which the greying hair only brought even more attention. He ran a hand through his combed hair, sighing heavily at how...how...

_'__Ugh, I can't even say it. Considering the last few people I've dated after Julianna passed away, one would think I would have gotten more appreciative about my looks. Apparently that's not the case.' _His thoughts stopped when a sudden smell of sweat and motor oil met his nose, inciting a half-hearted smile to involuntarily slide across his face. _'__Speaking of looks...'_

"Judging by that repugnant stench, I take it that you're still tending to that monstrosity you call your 'baby.'" He got a tongue sliding along his nape for a response. A pair of brawny tanned arms snaked around the elder man's waist from behind, a nose digging into his salt-and-pepper hair to drink in the fragrance of book powder and Navy Orchid cologne. Ozzie let out a heavy breath that did nothing to hide his shivers. "Couldn't you respond like a normal human being?"

His butt received a firm squeeze in return, his breath hitching instantly and his face contorting in both surprise and poorly hid pleasure.

"I could." RJ chuckled seductively at his partner's reaction. "...cept' I don't wanna."

Ozzie finally allowed his smile free reign as he shifted around in RJ's arms until the two men were face-to-face. Engulfing the younger fellow in an embrace of his own, he savored the body heat discernible through his biker's thin white muscle-shirt. Ozzie ran one hand up and down RJ's sculpted back while the other dug into his curly coffee hair, fingers massaging the brunet's scalp with gentle yet expert skill. RJ shut his eyes in bliss and let his head laze against his boyfriend's bare chest, the hair there soft and tickly against his cheek, while his hands trekked across his lover's body as well. No matter how many times Ozzie denied it, he was pretty darn fit for a man his age.

"Was there something you needed, my dear?" finally answered Ozzie after a few more moments of silence and touching, voice soft and adoring.

RJ snorted lightly at the address, already used to Ozzie calling him such "cutesy" names. He tilted his head up so he could see into his boyfriend's icy blue eyes. "Yeah, Heather's coming by tomorrow with a friend of hers from college."

Ozzie's eyebrows furrowed somewhat. "A boy...?"

"Relax, Daddy Shakespeare, it's a chick," RJ jokingly assured with a roll of his eyes, "Although, I gotta admit, I'm almost disappointed. It's pretty damn fun to work out the tension you get from meeting whatever guy our little girl brings home."

"You know as well as I do that no man could ever be good enough for our Heather," Ozzie quietly retorted, turning his head away with a dark glare. He tried to ignore the blossom of warmth from hearing RJ call Heather their little girl rather than his. "And besides, don't tell me you don't get defensive yourself whenever she does bring one home."

To the older man's disappointment, RJ suddenly released his grip on him, even though the brunet draped an arm around his shoulders. The biker led him out of the bathroom and into their bedroom, planting a trail of kisses from Ozzie's deltoid to his bearded cheekbone. Soon, the kisses stopped coming. RJ slipped his arm from his love's shoulders to his waist, and pulled him in so the two of them were flush against each other, Ozzie's body hair tickling his nose once again.

"You're not old, buddy."

Ozzie froze on the spot. _'But...how does he...?'_

"That's what's really bothering you. I can tell." Ozzie opened his mouth to retort—RJ trapped his lips in a tender kiss then pulled back and gently guided the gentleman's head down to his level to press his forehead against Ozzie's in an attempt to insure the man was listening. "You can't fool me, man. I realized it the moment that punk on the corner called you out on it yesterday...and I know how much it's been eating at you since. Buddy, you've got more worth in your pinkie than any of these good-for-nothing bums in this damn city have in their whole bodies."

A confident smirk crossed RJ's face. "Trust me, you could be ninety freakin' years old and _still_ run circles around them. Don't ever let anyone convince you otherwise. Got it?"

Wow...just wow...when would this man ever stop surprising him?

_'__I'll never understand how you can be so understanding, RJ,' _Ozzie mused in silent awe, his eyes shining with unshed tears of gratitude. He embraced his spouse in a compassionate hug. "Th...Thank you, RJ, so very much. That means volumes coming from you."

"Don't thank me," RJ remarked as he returned the hug with equal love, "No really, don't thank me...not like that anyway. You've still got a lotta of years ahead of ya to thank me for stuff, so don't think I'm letting you off easy."

And there went the moment.

"You are incorrigible," Ozzie scoffed with a roll of his eyes as he undid the hug, sat up from the bed, and marched off in search of a shirt, jokingly trying in vain to avoid RJ's snickering and jubilant exclaim of "That's why you love me, babe!"

Yep, age didn't seem so scary anymore.


End file.
